And then, the first cohort of the XVIII ran from the west and turned the battle, killing a dozen Marsi.
“Too bad. They’ll flee,” said Adalwulf. “But that’s the plan, no?”
I nodded.
The first cohort of the XVIII were bloody veterans. The primus pilus, an old, gnarled centurion was commanding the cohort, and there too, was Ceionius, the old camp prefect. Both guided the men to a fierce butchery. The primus pilus was bleeding from his face, grinning, and the Romans roared with newly found bravery, and they pushed into the reeling seventh cohort, and then through it, and threw themselves at the Marsi.
Hundreds of legionnaires managed to push at the Marsi middle, hundreds and the whole cohort were stabbing at the battle line of the Germani. The long Germani spears killed many, but the Romans pushed through them, past them, swords flashing, and took revenge. Men fell, screaming, and disappeared, claimed by mud and the forest. Swords flashed, clubs came down with terrible force, and the tall Germani, the mighty Marsi with a glorious victory robbed from their grasping hands, were pushed back, and back. A final effort was made, as a red-haired champion danced over a felled centurion, laughing with a bloody sword, screaming at the primus pilus, not far away. An optio threw a javelin at the man, felling the warrior, but a dozen men pushed to the dying champion, their weapons flashing, hoping to avenge their lord. The Germani came to kill, rolled over ten legionnaires, and then there was a gap in the Roman ranks, and the primus pilus led a dozen men to pluck it.
They tried.
They fought like veterans would, the very best of the best in an elite legion. They didn’t give an inch, prayed to their gods, hid behind their shields to kill ten, then twenty Germani rushing at them, walking forward over the dead, and not noticing how legionnaires to their sides had to dodge trees, leaving ten Germani in their midst. Then, suddenly, the primus pilus and five of his men were being stabbed and hacked at from the side, from behind even. There died the first centurion of the XVIII, laughing as two Germani bore him down to the mud, their axes going up and down.
The Marsi died, legionnaires weeping with rage, as they avenged the primus pilus. Ceionius was roaring at them. The legionnaires, hundreds of them, furious, charged at the Marsi in utter chaos.
“Oh, that is a poem and heroic song those men earned,” Adalwulf laughed. “Never seen the like.”
“They have to retreat,” I said. “Must not lose too many more men.” The Marsi chieftain was roaring his defiance, but if he died, the Marsi might flee for good.
More cohorts were arriving. They were being struck by arrows and javelins from hunters that rushed along the lines like wraiths. Some brave Roman cavalry were again amongst the trees, killing many such Germani, but more fell from their horses, struck down in the thickets.
The Marsi chief was staring at the coming Romans, barking orders while his men fought and marched back slowly, many of the Marsi spread to kill any civilians they could find. I saw how a Roman woman was stabbed down. A child was thrown against a tree, and slaves were slain in a red orgy of death by dozens of ferocious Marsi. We stared in horror, as even mules were butchered. It was Armin’s revenge, his terrible orgy, and the Romans bore witness to savage murder, as they tried to break the Marsi. The ninth and second cohorts of the XVIII, their battle honors visible in their shaken ranks, arrived and roared, then rushed the Marsi flanks, and some got amongst the men killing the civilians. A minor Marsi chief, roaring, fell from his horse, and a dozen men were bowled over amidst the muddy wagon train. A savage, bitter battle took place there. Shields flashing, lines of Romans pushed at the Marsi, killing dozens, but the damage was done.
Hundreds of civilians had died.
The blue standard dipped. A horn blew, and the warriors left the wagons fast as ghosts and fled to the woods, taking losses.
The Romans howled their bitter victory, and some foolhardy cavalry mounted a confused chase in the woods, only to lose men as the Marsi turned and slashed their horses dead, and the men after.
Stunned Romans stood amidst the battlefield. Silence reigned.
But only for a moment.
The Marsi didn’t go far.
Apparently, a near inexhaustible supply of javelins was hidden in those woods and the fresh, young Marsi spread to the woods, and while they no longer charged in mass, the warriors kept coming forward, throwing the deadly weapons, taking men and animals down.
The Romans had to endure it, for to go deep into the woods in pursuit of the Marsi would leave them exposed. I saw Ceionius, wounded in his arm, roar orders. The Romans rebuilt their cohorts.
All that time, in the rain, javelins and rocks took men down.
We watched the terrible butchery for hours, hiding. We lay down in the thick undergrowth, watching men riding back and forth, up and down the legionnaire lines, and many were tribunes of the thin stripe. At one point, a centurion of the XIX rode to Ceionius, and screamed orders from Varus.
Ceionius began to give orders.
They would move soon.
Hundreds of mules had been pulled into a column, corpses hauled out of the muddy path the wagons would use, the surviving civilians were huddling behind the animals and near the soldiers. Every single Roman looked shocked and many were wounded, but worst of all was that they had to leave corpses of the fallen behind.
It took hours.
We watched as the XVIII went past, hauling the wounded with them, and finally, the XVII legion came along. Legatus Vala, riding with his Aquila, was there, encouraging his men as they passed the battlefield. They had been savaged as well, with plenty of wounded in the ranks. They picked up what weapons they could, while constantly hunted by shadowy Germani in the woods. Men fell, hurt, and as their shields were pointed to the south, and most Germani attacked from the north, their losses were heavy, and they were slow. The few Germani wounded were butchered, and their weapons broken. As the wood slowly grew silent that evening, there were dead of most every cohort of two legions before us. A child was crying somewhere miserably, and Thusnelda wept for the child’s misery. Hundreds of dead lay in sight, many wounded crawling, or weeping.
Cassia touched my hand. I turned to her and held her. “I have made so many mistakes,” I told her. “I feel like I should stop making them.”
She smiled, kissing my hand. “There are not too many that I cannot forgive you,” she said. “We shall be all right now. We just need time to heal.”
“For you, and Gervas, I have done—”
“And I agreed,” she said as Thusnelda stroked her hair. “Shh. We are going to be fine. Unlike these poor people.”
When it was almost dark, the Germani emerged from the east, loping after the enemy. Some saw us, and approached, but Thusnelda waved them on, and we waited. A thousand more, many wounded amongst them, loped past. Occasionally they found a hiding enemy and killed them fast, no matter the sex. One could hear the noise of axes striking wood, and I knew the Germani were felling trees over the trail, making it hard for the enemy to go back.
Out of the woods, I saw cavalry appearing.
There sat Armin on a black horse, wearing a silvery helmet, and he smiled as he stared at the heaps of corpses, as if he owned each one of them. He had already seen many such heaps, as he rode the length of the battle, making his plans. His hand held a long spatha and his father’s famous ax was on his belt. He glittered with silvery glory, his chainmail bright even in the rainy evening, and his eyes scoured the path ahead. Grip and Horse-Arse were amongst his followers. With him rode a man from the Marsi, a long bearded, grinning man, who was talking to the chief who had fought there that day. There too, was my friend Adgandestrius. We walked that way, and saw many other chiefs followed Armin. There was a dozen or more, many Bructeri, and especially a tattooed son of Wodenspear, the great chief whom I had seen dying years past. He was called Helm, and led his retinue behind Armin.
The Chatti prince saw me, gawked with shock, rubbed his eyes, and jumped from his horse, and rushed me. He gras
ped me with wild whoop, while Armin gazed at Thusnelda, stopping his horse. I felt, more than saw Thusnelda running for Armin, their long separation finally at an end.
“I have so much to tell you,” Adgandestrius laughed. “Gods, you look old as ancient bark. Older than your father, eh? Full of scars, like an old boar. Gulla still thinks she will marry you, by the way!”
“This is Cassia,” I said, nodding at her, “my wife.”
He looked mortified. “Really? Gulla is mad, you see. Dreams of marrying not only him, but a bull. She is—”
I interrupted him. “You are now a chief?”
“A chief of the Chatti. My cousin is the Thiuda.” He waved towards a man with a fine wolf skin jerkin. “Arpus.”
“Stole the men from you, did he?” I asked, keeping an eye on Armin and Thusnelda. “And you are happy?”
He looked unhappy. “With your father, Rome, and the wars with Hermanduri, the Chatti are much reduced. There are so many foes, and Rome keeps marching through what was your land, always for us. Now there are Roman castra in the former Quadi lands, and they even have villages with Roman citizens along the river they call Moenus. Hopefully, this will change things.” He eyed the heaps of corpses and shook his head. “They lost some thousands. The Bructeri surprised a cohort of archers. Nearly killed the lot. Their cavalry only gets in their way. Armin was right. This is the place to kill legions.”
I nodded and looked at Armin.
He was holding Thusnelda, at last stroking her hair, and then I spied Ulrich. The man saw me, gazed at Cassia and jumped down from a horse.
“All happy again, eh?” he asked. “I escorted them as far as I could, and then learnt that they had taken her. I rode back to warn you, but I see I was late?”
“Yes, Ulrich. I found my heart again,” I said, and hesitated. “Any news of—”
“Tudrus might survive,” he said simply. “That’s what they said. Might. Wandal will. The javelin broke nothing, but ... Agetan. He is with Woden.” He looked down, flexing his hands. “The Gold Wolf is guarding them. Euanthe is looking after both. Gisil helps as well.”
I swallowed my regret, and guilt, and held Cassia. She had found a framea, and a shield, and looked horrified.
“Agetan?”
I waved my hand at the dead. “We fought to guard this … secret.”
There we stood, Armin and I both with our women, as Adalwulf smiled fondly. I could see masses of Germani in the forest now, following the Romans, and many more would be ahead and around them. The din of battle rang in the woods ahead. Germani women could be seen amid the warriors as well, binding their wounds. They always followed men to war.
Armin gave Thusnelda a fond look, and let go of her.
“There was trouble?” he asked me.
“You heard from Ulrich that Segestes took your father?” I asked.
He looked away, his eyes cold with fury. “I know. I know what he did.”
I waved my hand around. “We stopped Segestes from reaching the battlefield. His son, your cousin Segimundus, helped us. He is with Varus, perhaps. We stayed to save the … women.”
Armin’s eyes took me in. “I told Father to get away from the hall,” he said hollowly. “I told him. And I thank you for … her.” He looked at Thusnelda. “Much is forgiven. But we have more work to do.”
His eyes turned to the north.
There a pair of women ran in the woods. One was wearing a Roman tunic, and another a slave’s. Some Germani whooped, and ran after them. Javelins flashed after them, and soon, the men were jumping around the Romans, stabbing down.
Cassia looked shocked and wept, and her sobs grated on my soul. Thusnelda turned her face away.
I stared at Armin and he kept staring at me and then towards the woods where the Romans had disappeared. “We shall kill every last one of them.”
“The children—” Thusnelda begged.
“Every one of them,” he said brutally. Thusnelda looked astonished, and I knew the man before us was no longer the Armin who had once led an alliance of honor.
Here was a king in the making. He would no longer allow dissent, and he would be a far less forgiving man to his foes.
Armin took a shuddering breath, and grasped Thusnelda’s hand. “We shall send them to Helheim with our spears, and we will sacrifice the leaders on our shrines to the gods. Woden will spit on their corpses. And after that? We shall fight until no Romans remain in our lands. This way, perhaps, our women and children are spared.” He looked at me. “I need you to lead my own men. I have near a thousand, and they are useless as a bent cock as I must lead the entire battle. Will you take them? Horse-Arse and Grip stay with me, but you take Adalwulf, and this Ulrich, and lead them. Can you master them?”
I nodded.
He grinned. “Good, I have something you need to do tomorrow.” He rode off, and we found horses, and rode after him. Thusnelda flanked Armin, her face thoughtful as she gazed at the man she loved.
Or had loved. She too, would need time to get to know him again.
We rode after the legions until it was fully dark, and heard a great toil echoing in the woods. We found Varus had built a huge, haphazard castrum in the woods, where thousands and thousands of Romans huddled miserably with their animals, women, and supplies, sleeping fitfully in the rain, their bellies empty and hearts twisted with fear.
Armin and his allies surrounded it, and a constant howling and barrage of rocks and javelins kept the enemy awake. The legionnaires could be seen staring over the earthen wall with horror, and while some archers shot bravely back at the fleet-footed Germani, the great, gigantic camp was mostly shivering with fearful hearts. Horses neighed inside in their hundreds, mules complained, and the terrible din of a confused army could be heard all through that terrible night. Somewhere in the woods, captured Romans cried piteously, to the horror of their comrades.
Behind us, more trees were being felled on the road.
Not so in the front, on the road for Castra Nova.
We stared down at the Romans from a hillside. Armin was glaring at them, as if he was a wolf with a taste for man-blood. “Is Varus leading them? Truly leading?” Armin asked as we watched some dozen Germani throwing rocks and javelins at a party of Romans digging a collapsed part of the fossa. Men fell, howling piteously.
“Varus can’t piss straight,” I said. “There is a legatus, Vala, and two camp prefects, I guess, who shall truly command.”
Indeed, we could see a man riding inside the camp, usually an offence against Roman gods, wearing a bronze helmet, sword high. Thousands of men were cheering him. The Aquila were standing up straight in the middle of the camp, all three drenched in rain. It was Vala. Not Varus.
“They will leave tomorrow, early tomorrow,” Armin said. “They’ll try to surprise us. We shall let them think they can. We’ll give them rest for two hours, just before Sunna rides her chariot to the sky. And we must do better than we did today. There are ten thousand Germani gauging how we are doing and they will decide this battle. If we do well, they will join in. That will be the end of the enemy.”
I nodded. “Will they try to make it to the River Amisia? Can they swing south?”
“They fear the road behind them,” Armin said simply. “They know it, but they fear it. There is no road to the south, only woods, lakes, and swamps. They hope to find the river up ahead, and their shitty tower as well. They will want to find ships, and row away for the Luppia. They know there are a vast number of cultivated fields around Castra Nova, perfect for battle. They will have to endure us tomorrow, and on the morning of the third day we shall have to kill them, or they will get to the fields.” He frowned. “Even if only a legion’s worth of men manages to get there, they might beat us still. These men of ours are not trained like your father trains his men. Light, wet, evil, we will hunt them down, and win, but only if the legions are inside these woods. We can win. We actually can.”
“Yes,” I said simply. It was so close we could all smell it.<
br />
Victory.
Armin sighed. “We’ll keep them awake. We’ll give them two hours of sleep just before daybreak, and our silence will make them move out early.”
“I agree,” I said, watching as masses of Germani moved past. There were more than ten thousand Germani with Armin, and Woden only knew how many had died, and if they would all be there still in the morning. The Germani were notoriously independent. And rebellious.
“Let’s hope they don’t figure out a way out of this,” Armin muttered, and Thusnelda squeezed his hand. “I have tried my best.” He nodded at a mass of men behind him. “They are yours. Ten chiefs, and their men. Tomorrow, we do battle. We must slow them all day.”
“Yes, King,” I said, and that made him stiffen. “How, exactly?”
“We shall go after Vala, Eggius, and Ceionius,” he said, and men listened as he spoke.
It rained all night
It would rain for the next two days.
CHAPTER 36
It turned out the Romans had figured out a way to hinder us.
Everything went as Armin had predicted at first. Early that morning, the Roman legions marched out, having slept fitfully for just a short while. Legatus Vala led the XVII out first. The Aquila was gleaming amid the first cohort. They passed as swiftly as they could, the civilians and hundreds of mules with them. Then came the XIX, their splendid first cohort and Varus travelling with them, with him was Eggius, commanding the legion. Varus was wearing his muddy purple cloak, sitting on a horse.
Nearly two thousand cavalry rode on the flanks of the two first legions, and hundreds of them guarded the mules and civilians that were in the middle of the XIX. Apparently, they were the most valuable of the non-combatants. Very little cavalry was spared to the last legion, the XVIII, the legion of Ceionius, which had only a small contingent of Roman riders, some hundreds strong. The XVII had disappeared to the wooded road, and far ahead horns rang across the hills, as our men began to harass them.
Unfortunately, our plans went awry.
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